We Wear the Mask
K S 3 W I N N E R S
Eversmile
He built a library of lies, Shelves stacked with stolen faces. Every mask, another life.
Every mask, waiting for its turn.
His lips were frozen, His muscles were locked. A grin rehearsed too long, Carving itself into stony flesh. Captain, for the team that relies on his leadership. Clown, for the friend who loves his humour. Gentleman, for the girl who longs for his kindness. Scholar, for the teacher who expects his perfection. He tried on mask after mask, But each one felt so... unnatural. And when the world applauded, He feared they praised a stranger.
He was an imposter,
Borrowing glor y from a f ace that was not his.
The smile didn’t f alter.
But inside, he whispered:
‘W hat if I am the mask?’
‘And not the person behind it?’
‘ Then maybe the mask was all I ever was.’
It was too late to end the lie,
The masks spun with ever y encounter.
Chaos behind an iron smile, His f ace, a dam holding back a f lood.
Eventually, the li brar y grew too big.
He wandered the corridors in silence.
W here was the f irst f ace?
The unmasked boy?
This is the stor y of Eversmile,
The boy who forgot how to stop grinning.
Not a mask nor a boy,
But the remains of both.
the fabric of vanity
E L I N K A N G
B r o k e n p l a t e s a r e s c a t t e r e d o n t h e t a b l e .
A s i l v e r s p o o n i s b e n t ,
a n d p i e c e s o f t r a s h l i e a r o u n d .
P e o p l e s a i d i t l o o k e d u g l y .
S o I c o v e r e d t h e m e s s w i t h a c l e a n w h i t e c l o t h ,
p u t b r i g h t l i g h t s o n t o p ,
a n d f o l d e d n a p k i n s o n t h e b r o k e n p l a t e s .
P e o p l e s a i d i t l o o k e d b e a u t i f u l .
B u t u n d e r t h e c l o t h ,
t h e t r a s h s l o w l y r o t t e d .
D u s t g a t h e r s o n t h e b r o k e n p l a t e s ,
a n d t h e k n i v e s a r e t u r n i n g r u s t y .
I p u t m o r e c l o t h
t o h i d e i t .
T h e t a b l e g r o a n s
u n d e r t h e w e i g h t —
a n d f i n a l l y b r e a k s .
Regulus
The star I call my home
Often, people call it the fallen star
Even though the days are full of darkness and rain every day, I never feel alone at all.
Here, where I live and breathe, Bloom a flower that resembles you
It never withers or fades, And forever stays by my side.
On this beautiful night with a beautiful moon,
How beautiful would you be?
Shall we hold our hands and live on that star we dreamt about
So that nothing escapes between us?
So that the ends of our fingers are close enough to touch each other
Then, after the rain finally clears, we can bloom again together.
I hear your steps across the Milky Way
And the sunlight and the moonlight are already waiting for you.
Shall we take two petals from the flower
And keep them forever for each other?
Even if I fade and disappear and forget everything, Just for you to know I’m there
I will keep our secret beneath the horizon
So that you can bloom again.
Please don’t wither even though I am
I know, I’m selfish, but please remember me
A “Goodbye” is special,
Because millions of memories live in there.
Even if the distance between Earth and the star is far in kilometers,
Please still remember me
Would you please stay just as you are,
Under the falling starlight,
Until the moon sets
And until the morning light shines on you again.
Among the countless stars in the night sky
Shining towards Earth,
This star where I live and breathe
Will just shine for you.
Among all the people in the world,
You are the only one I will and would remember.
I will always remember the one reading this poem— You.
For those who smile anyway
APRIL (SIYU) CHUNG
He walks through the door, dust obscuring his shoes, the weight of the world, the evening news. But before he steps past the kitchen light, he slips on a smile, warm and bright.
So he tucks away the weary frown, bedtime stories settling down. Because some masks aren’t meant to deceive, but to give the ones we love relief.
Another soul, anxious and waiting, the curtain rises. She takes her mark, a thousand eyes, a beating heart, a blinding roar of pure anticipation
But she becomes the light, the spark — tonight, she is a dream made true, a world reborn, the holder of a million stories brought to life
Her mask is made of song and flame, of passion and joy spun from her own to give the crowd a place to laugh, to cry, to feel again
Not every mask is woven to lie some are worn to help us try To hold it steady, to play the part, to keep the warmth in others’ hearts
To be the strength when days are tough, To be enough, and more than enough.
Tugging at the edge
I gaze at my mother’ s face full of sorrow
The wrinkles she always hated scrunching like paper
And her glossy pearls of tears streaming down her face
Each one as beautiful as she is
I cannot bear to stare at the scars again
I cannot bear to stand another day
Another day of trickery and blatant lies
I cannot help but feel such guilt blooming in my chest
When you stare at me with those eyes
That shrill voice, mumbling into a mindless spiel:
“You were such a joyful child. You were always fond of talking to others.
Yet now you ’ ve ended up like this.”
I cannot help but cry
As shame holds my hand
When I drag that edge across my skin
And it bleeds as much as you cry
And flows as freely as your tears
I hate it, I despise my scars
I hate how I was once a blank canvas
Escastic to be painted with vibrant, innocent shades of white
Yet now blemished with shades of shameful scarlet
A stain no amount of scrubbing can eraseNo matter how hard you try.
I cannot help but tug at the mask now sewed to my face
As I cannot remember nor live without it
But for you I can re-shape the cracks on delicate porcelain
I can snap off my stitches embedded into flesh
I will even tear off my skin, smear the tears underneath, and this time,
Even with trembling fingers and lips, I can feel no shame.
For now I can look my mother in the eyes and exclaim, “Oh mother, teach me again
How to breathe
Without apologising for taking up air.”
K S 4 W I N N E R S
Dance of Light
Under the radiant beam of the sun,
Under the dazzling city lights,
Under the twinkling stars above us,
Under the dance of light.....
We wear a mask.
A fragile, foul, and brittle veil
That clings to our skin
Not knowing If it will fade into thin air
Or if it already has left
The only saviourIs you, under the lightThe light of honesty, Of courage, Of freedom, That illuminates the world With such grace and beauty.
So let the light dance inside you. Let it dance through shadows, Let the veil tremble, And the night swallows your fear.
Dance... until the mask Whispers its last lie.
9.48 pm. R I E N
L i t t l e M r . S u b - c h a r a c t e r , b a c k s t a g e —
W h o s e s t o r y d i d y o u p l a y ?
A f a c e b o r r o w e d , a l i n e r e h e a r s e d ,
t h e n t h e c u r t a i n f e l l .
Y o u b o w t o a m i r r o r ,
b u t n o o n e b o w s b a c k .
W a s t h e r e a n y b o d y l e f t ,
t o c l a p f o r y o u ?
T o m o r r o w y o u ’ l l w e a r i t a g a i n , b e c a u s e s i l e n c e c a n n o t s e l l a t i c k e t .
They Wear the Mask
At the end
Of the stone-paved road,
A dilapidated workshop, in shadows,
Where the painter paints, he paints his masks.
They come
With glistening—clanging
Silver coins. To meet their shield, their saviour
From the still air, the silent eyes, watching,
At the daily masquerade they must attend.
They wear the mask.
They buy the blue masks with high eyebrows,
Some painted with youthful smiles,
Some painted with melancholy, some with guile.
They try the white masks of their grandparents,
Plain but curious, for the antiques of a simpler time.
They eye at the golden mask, scintillating from the corner, lit by a strand of rogue light.
They wear the mask.
They come in a mask, leave in another, never once
Showing
Their true faces.
They wear the mask.
For another day, For these faceless ones, The painter paints
Another mask.
He wears No mask, But his face
Too, is shrouded
By the darkness
In his dilapidated Workshop at the end Of the stone-paved road.
However his neighbour sleeps sound
He was found dead in the corridor.
The windows, open wide, let in the cricket sounds, And lightning flashed outside in the distance; Ceiling lights flickered. I was scared.
A wind - sharp as the knife that grazed
Deep into the side of his throat -
Whispered into my ears, gentle as a cat And pounced and dug its claws into my neck.
The crickets have silenced. The wind had paused.
It was the moon staring me down, heavy yet brilliant Thunder slamming down A signal, and as promised,
I put the mask of a smiling face on the man
As promised, the frowning mask was worn
On this dirty, dastardly criminal. As promised, we wore the mask. Shuddered and consumed in fear,
I fled the scene. Regardless, in my eyes, The world knew. They were the smiling mask.
I drowned in the crowd of dreaded smiles that watched The wind who watched from afar,
And the crickets who watched from afar; And me - victim of the weight
Of the moon ' s unforgiving gaze, With nowhere to hide.
Another lightning flash burnt the sky up, And upon stepping outside, the masks were gone.
I was alone, stood still with a bloody shirt,
Knowing that no-one will know what happened
A final crash of thunder, however, reminded me
Of this dirty, dastardly criminal.
Who placed this mask on us?
Why do I wear a mask?
As if I’m an oiled machine
Precisely performing every task
While my heart screams to shine
Why do you wear a mask?
Creating illusions of effortless success
Oppressing the urge to ask
If this is a mere method of suppress
Why do they wear a mask?
Unity becoming a confine
Demanding to be defined
Wishing nobody sees through
Who placed this mask on us?
K S 3 S H O R T L I S T
Behind the Bars
A R E V E R S E P O E M
We are free! So do not say We live in fear; Because of the solemn voices, Because of the colours we salute, Because of the walls that hold us, Order and security bless our sightsIt is false if I say The cage binds us still. It’s clear that Times are brighter now and They want us to be happyI refuse to believe that This is merely a mask.
A hollow facade. Whenever I look at the shards, I see Freedom?
(
The Gilded Hour
C H E L I M ( S O P H I A ) K I M
Lavish gowns and powdered wigs stacked high, Gems to hide the guilt, but still they pry.
Shrill and strained, the hollow laughters spread, Vibrant flowers stained by shades of dread.
Then enters Antoinette, lest mood twist wry;
Allure of bliss so strong none can defy. She flicks, she twirls, so wine and fare be spread, And masquerade begins in sorrow’s stead.
A mask for thee, a mask for me,
Ornate façade to hide the sin, A cover from the wrath within.
All raise your glass for good Marie.
No hoi polloi, no bourgeoisie, A ball of class for royalty
The clock rings twelve and games begin; But halt, a crash, a roar — et quoi?
The triad has risen; the tables have turned on our cloaked faces; we, trembling, meet their gaze... “Cowering behind your shroud of blindness, the pain and hollowness and the listless nights, and the drowned sorrow we shed, our voices locked out. Constricts us all — your masks and ways.” They say, then slice, all masks are stripped...
Beneath a wreck of cracked debris, We wear the mask no more.
Thick of it
I wear the mask;
My true self is hidden beneath.
I wear the mask;
Never showing, nobody ever knowing.
Thoughts are buried deep within;
Heart’s desire: burning,
Ending, Dying
The mask; a prison for my truest nature,
Hiding me from the truth’s dangerous embrace.
Inner thoughts; they threaten to push through.
Can’t let that happen, place a mask anew,
Knowing that if the truth were revealed, it would be…
Oppressed;
Fundamentally undesirable.
I should really take off the mask;
Though what would come of it… I could not say.
Unmasking Silence
There was a girl. A girl who had A smile too wide for a face, A brightness too sharp for tenderness. Just enough light To hide the shadows beneath. They say, The saddest leave the fewest of clues, Those who notice remain in silence.
Perhaps that was why no one acted: The battered clothes, The hollowed eyes, The forced expressionThey looked, and looked away.
We all wear masks.
Some are stitched by fear, Some painted by expectation, Some pressed by hands unseen, Shaping our words into silence, So we can pass by Without confronting the truth.
Some are stitched by fear, Some painted by expectation, Some pressed by hands unseen, Shaping our words into silence, So we can pass by Without confronting the truth.
The mask clings, Heavy with words unspoken, Shaping the face we show, And hiding the one beneath.
I watch the masks around me: Veils of smiles, of courtesy, Eyes flickering with shadows No one dares name aloud.
We live in half-truths, Layered and polished, And the faces we reveal Are only fragments Of the selves we deny.
Even in the quietest corners, Masks linger, Clinging, unyielding,
Until we forget Which is the mask, And which is the face.
Alive
We wear the maskBorrowed skin, a smile too tight. It covers the tremble in our shaking hands, a remaining scar that never healed right.
We laugh, but the sound cracks like glass under pressure; our silence is stitched shut, binding the voice beneath.
In crowded rooms our masks shinebright expressions that align. The real voice curls inwards, a letter never sent.
But the disguise grows slowly, forgetting our emotions, thinning our voice, until even the mirror fails to recall our faces.
StillBeneath the cage, Beneath our masks, A small cry that screams: Tear it off.
Get rid of the old mask, And let our hidden selves arise. Trembling and imperfect, Yet still unmistakably alive. I R I S
Below the Surface
Below the surface, lies deep depths forever left untouched. Secrets left untold, And letters never sent, My sentiments bound by hesitation. I veil myself with cautious darkness, yet your light spills everywhere. How come my heart retreats from brilliance, but you illuminate all that is there?
I know I was never your first So I dread every touch, every smile. I hide behind the mask of distrust, but your burst of laughter tells me it was worth the while.
Masks, Later and Now
I encounter people of every walk of life.
They are part of my daily routine whether they want to or not.
Waiting for the bus, eyes down pretending that I don’t exist.
I wonder if we meet in different circumstances they would open up. The awkwardness is palpable.
Opening the door to the real world.
Not knowing how to act or what to say,
With zero fanfare, I sit down in my cubicle.
The three walls feel suffocating.
Greetings appear above the divider, but are they genuine?
Hearing laughter from the watercooler,
How can they find joy when darkness surrounds us?
I make bold strides towards the sounds, not knowing what to expect.
Quickly they put up a wall around me.
They have a professional vibe that I’m to master.
I realise that I need to put on a mask to fit in. I need to be cheerful yet professional. I need to fake it to fit into the corporate world. This reality scares me to no end. Tomorrow, I will be a new person.
A familiar ring tone wakes me up. Her timely call to remind me to wear my lanyard. Woke me up from daydream
Whether I like it or not, my future will depend on a mask. The bus grinds to a halt. Time for school.
I find my seat, but still groggy from my nap.
I don’t feel like smiling, but suddenly, a grin appears as my teacher enters the classroom.
I am the first to raise my head. I’m overcome with pride.
I’m placed in a random group. My anxiety is through the roof. I want to yell.
I need to become someone else. A calm demeanor washes over me. I can endure.
Dismissed A circle of friends surrounds me I am free to be myself.
A football appears from a friend's bag We play until the final whistle.
No mask was needed.
L’habit ne fait pas le moine
We wear the Mask, the rose of midnight skies, Its velvet thorns fastened close, yet none may see; The mouth still smiles, though the depth of the silence cries, And laughter blooms where roots drink misery.
“L’habit ne fait pas le moine”, so they sing, Yet gilded cloth deceives the heedless throng;
A mask of gold may veil a broken wing, And sorrow hiding beneath a merry song.
The mask is music, dulcet, wild, untrue,
A lark-song caged in sorrow’s narrow breast; It turns our anguish into morning dew, And hides despair in robes of fleeting jest.
Yet, O Eternity, when stars are torn,
Unmask us gently—let the soul be born.
Fanged Beauty
We wear masks because silence feels safer than speech.
Smiles are stitched from sorrow that no one can reach.
We bow our heads, pretending the performance makes us strong. Yet deep inside we know we have been acting far too long
We laugh on command though our hearts beg for release. Every grin grows heavier while our peace decreases. The mask whispers promises: your pain will stay unknown. But the whisper grows colder the longer it is shown.
We polish the surface until it gleams like glass. No one sees the cracks beneath that split so fast. We hide our wounds as though they should be concealed. And we tremble at the truth that longs to be revealed.
The mask pretends it saves us, though it weighs like stone It guards us in the crowd, but it leaves us all alone. It is armor that suffocates, stealing our final breath. A disguise we mistake as life but is closer to death.
We call it survival, but it feels more like a cage. We call it safety, yet it steals our very age
We obey the mask as though fear were our king. But deep down we know truth could offer the same thing.
For masks are paper; they cannot last forever.
With one act of courage, we can break the tether
With one honest word, every wall will fall apart.
With one step in truth, light can flood the heart.
Then voices rose that were silent for years.
Then laughter returns and washes away tears.
Then courage is born where shadows once stood.
Then pain turns to power, and scars turn to blood.
We breathe in freedom that no disguise can contain.
We sing in daylight, released from the chain.
We stand unveiled, our faces lifted to the sun.
We live the lives fear has left undone.
What joy to walk without a disguise!
What peace to look into another’s eyes!
What love to be known as we are!
What freedom to break every bar!
So cast off the mask, there is nothing left to hide!
Step forward in truth, let your heart be the guide!
Hear this command and carry out the task:
Read these words backward, and watch the falling of the mask. 34
Inside-Out
We wear the mask
The mask of justice
Inside the mind,
A black and white frame
We wear the mask
The mask of hope
Inside and outside
Distorted and smeared
We wear the mask
The mask of freedom
Inside the net
The net, the web, the trap
We wear the mask
The mask we are given
The mask we are giving
The mask we become
Whispers hiding in the mask
Anxiety whispers, diffidence near, Apprehension fed by fear.
Shadows creep on the ground, Driving the saints all around.
I tried to hide the pieces of a mistake; The thick mask is what should be broken. What was it?
Why was it?
Hid in the shadows, Drenching the shallows.
Loss escalated, became a curse, As sorrows grew worse and worse.
I took a walk on the path of reliance, Now I stand with defiance.
No shame, no pain, Letting the jagged edges touch the domain.
We Wear the Mask
ORBIS OF SANGUIS, CEREI, THYMIAMA, INANIS,
ANIMARIUM, SAL
THE SMELL OF DECAY FILLS THE AIR
TRANQUILLUS, MITIS, PAX
YOUR EYES SHINE THROUGH THE GAP
LARUA, PERSONA, LARVA
A DOOR TO ANOTHER WORLD, LIKE A MAP
ORBITUS OF INCENDIO, OF IGNIS, OF TRANQUILLUS
LIKE A BAT, LIKE A MAT, LIKE A PAT ON THE BACK
THAT'S WHAT A MASK IS. C H R I S T I A N
K S 4 S H O R T L I S T
Facade
The teeth smile for me before I can–
The tongue spilling words that I don’t mean,
My thoughts crashing
Against the walls of the skin,
Restless tides behind
A grin stitched on.
Until the stitch splits
And I spill out–
Truth flooding the hollow
I used to call a smile.
The Mask
A grin embroidered on the mask, behind it: a glance of annoyance. Rationalised lies pass the painted lip, while honesty is scrubbed beneath the gloss. I wear the mask, superficial yet essential. They praise empathy. But the heart is a desert, only raining when no one looks. Confidence, criticised as arrogance. Tears, teased as weakness. The mask conceals both, only showing what the world demands. Today, I wear the mask again.
The Veil
I wear the mask with grace; You cannot see my face. You see my surface, smooth, defined, but not the storm that lives behind. This mask is embedded in my skin, a part of me, a cage of sin. Every truth you think you know is filtered through this mask.
bygone
plaster on that smile of yours, they said society will judge; go in for the kill so why present yourself as vulnerable, fragile when you can just pretend? but then one day stumbling by accident, as a chance, that someone walked into my life and my world seemed to tilt, time seemed to slow as if trying to prove that the stars themselves have aligned and the mask which i had worn for so long began to crack and for the first time, despite the fears, i found myself bringing the walls down the mask fell like dust, and I stood unguarded beneath the bygone constellations. and under that infinite sky, you turned to me and said, life is unpredictable. i said, then let us be the one thing certain.
2019
At first we wore the mask to guard the breath, A strip of cloth to hold the plague away. The streets grew still, the windows shuttered tight, And every step was heavy with the thought That death might wait behind the nearest door.
Then came the bells. The graves were dug each week, And mourners gathered under heavy skies. We wore the mask at funerals as well, Our smiles rehearsed, our voices calm but thin. We bowed, we thanked, we shook the waiting hands, And held the grief where no one else could see.
Then the mask pressed closer. It sank into the skin. It shaped the mouth. The eyes. The face.
It stayed when tears had dried. It stayed when laughter came too soon. It stayed when there was nothing left to hide.
Now death sits quietly in the room. The mask remains. It feels like skin.
No one remembers how it felt to breathe. So perfect is the face the world can see That even God believes it is my own.
K S 5 S H O R T L I S T
Stanczyk
Caked, caken powder set in skin, each wipe of sweat cuts swathes through the fields, empty fields of white. Reapply, and the little bells giggle in return for each sigh.
Bells, the bells rattle, toll, the floor demands the marotte and pointed hat Reapply, a mask of powder and blush for the king demands a song and dance
Yet there lies a city felled A ruined wall
And the church bells draw near But in the palace is dancing And the hat jingles once more